


Contact

by charivari



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, M/M, cute nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 00:06:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4725329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/pseuds/charivari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Genuis(es)'.</p><p>It isn't premeditated. </p><p>Not like all those times Brainstorm arranged to bump into Quark by ‘accident’. No, his hand colliding with Perceptor’s as both reach simultaneously for a caliper on their shared workbench. It's pure coincidence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact

It isn't premeditated. 

Not like all those times Brainstorm arranged to bump into Quark by ‘accident’. No, his hand colliding with Perceptor’s as both reach simultaneously for a caliper on their shared workbench. It's pure coincidence. 

Nonetheless that small jolt of contact stirs something in him, the feel of another person’s hand against his own, and Brainstorm illogically latches on before Perceptor can pull his hand away.

The lab is suddenly very quiet and though his helm is turned purposely to one side, he can feel Perceptor’s optics on him.

“Brainstorm?”

It’s an odd mix of concern, curiosity and awkwardness. All appropriate, though Perceptor makes no attempt to wrench his hand away. Still Brainstorm clings to it as though he might, while he tries to explain himself.

Badly. 

"Sorry… It’s been… I just…”

Brainstorm is usually a master of eloquence. But this - he can't bring himself to express it. The need for contact, not necessarily romantic, just the feel of someone else, tangible, comforting. 

It’s not the same as loneliness. He’s not lonely. He has friends – surprisingly, shockingly, he still has friends. But companionship isn’t the same as contact, friendly banter doesn’t compare to the feeling of his hand cupped over another mech’s.

Failing at verbal explanation, he can only continue to clutch, desperately, foolishly - knowing he is probably jeopardizing their new professional partnership.

Professionals do not squeeze their colleague's hands. 

He forces himself to look at Perceptor, apologetic, but he still can't let go.

The microscope's lips part and Brainstorm is certain he's about to let him have it.

"It's fine."

Brainstorm reels.

"What?"

"It's fine," Perceptor repeats, "Brainstorm it's fine."

Brainstorm is lost for words.

The time he spent watching Quark from afar, aching to touch him. To hold his hand in his. Too afraid to make a move. And now, spur of the moment, his hand over Perceptor’s and Perceptor telling him its okay. Accepting it, accepting it like he’s accepted Brainstorm’s presence in his lab, somehow understanding it’s what he needs.

He feels movement as Perceptor spreads his fingers, allowing Brainstorm’s to interlock between the spaces. The feeling is joyous, the way they fit together snugly like two components designed to lock together. But Brainstorm is getting ahead of himself.

“T-thanks,” wobbles from his vocaliser, not quite satisfactory enough for how he feels. But it’s all he can manage.

Perceptor responds with a nod, a slight hint of a smile. A small gesture that provokes a swell of happiness inside Brainstorm’s spark.

The microscope glances back at his project,

“I still require the caliper,” he says, “And use of a right hand.”

Brainstorm understands his meaning. He takes up the caliper in his free hand. He’s been secretly noting the work Perceptor has been doing beside him. He knows what he wants the caliper for, where it’s supposed to go.

He proceeds with his hand still closed gratefully over Perceptor’s.


End file.
